


Emergency Call 9-11

by Alurax



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, September 11 Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alurax/pseuds/Alurax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada has to take care of his fallen twin after the devastating attacks on September 11, 2001.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Call 9-11

The alarm sounded, echoing through the mind of the sleepy nation.  Lazily, a hand reached over to the bedside table, searching for the persistent source of that infernal beeping.  Fingers pressed the various buttons until the noise finally stopped, and drew back into the bed.

There was a loud moan.  A sigh of resignation as America forced himself awake.  He sat up, stretching his arms high over his head, and yawned.  The strain of such a thing, so early in the morning, made him light headed and he flopped back onto the bed.  It took a couple more tries for him to reawaken, and sit up again, although his eyes were still hazy.  America had just reached towards the wooden eagle head, which held his glasses, when he heard his other alarm.  A couple of barking dogs bounded into his room, leaping jovially onto his bed.

America didn't even care that they were forcing him awake again.  Alaska and Hawaii were just too damn cute for him to really be mad at.  They were so excited to see him awake, that he just couldn't fault them for it.  Although, it was a good thing he hadn't yet put on his glasses.  “Ok, ok.”  He did, however, start to push them away when his drool tolerance had reached its limits.  “I'm up.”

Alaska slid off the bed, while Hawaii continued to burrow himself into the sheets.  America reached down to scratch the Husky's ear as he stood and made to try and get dressed.  The small Pariah leaped from the bed and ran over, bouncing up around his legs.  “Out.”  America ordered, pointing towards the door.  Both dogs rushed towards the door, and could be heard thundering down the wooden staircase. 

“Out.”  Generally meant they were to retrieve their leashes.  So, when America was finally dressed and made his way downstairs, they were sitting patiently in front of the door, holding their leashes in their mouths.  He held a hand down to retrieve them, and clipped the leashes to their collars.  “Ok kids.  Let's go.”

xXx

It was a brisk day in September. Around the span of time when Spring was slowly fading into Fall, and a being could see his breath in the crisp morning air.  America strolled along the sidewalk, both dogs jumping about excitedly, and greeting passersby.  Some of the people would stop and say hello to the canines, and pet them.  A couple would even say hi to America, but the general populace didn't seem to care.  There was a time when America couldn't walk out of his house without being greeted, or hailed, or invited over for dinner.  One girl had come up to him once and gave him a beautiful handmade dream catcher, with eagle feathers that she had found hiking.  It was the first gift he'd gotten in a long long time... but his boss's wife had her arrested for thinking she had stolen the feathers from an actual Bald Eagle.  Just one thing after another, and it felt as though his people were trusting him less and less.  He started trying to distance himself from it, but he wasn't a reclusive type, and getting out and about always dragged him down again.  Seeing the way his own citizens had started despising him.  Taking for granted all he had fought so hard to obtain.

America was dragged out of his thoughts by a jogger running into him.  He was knocked off balance, and America reached out a hand to catch the jogger before he fell. Although, instead of being grateful, the jogger just snatched his arm out, with a sneer.  “Why don't you watch where you're going!”  He snapped, and started off again.  America was so shocked by the reaction, that he almost let go of the leash.  He tightened his grip upon hearing his ever loyal canines growling after the jogger. Hawaii barked, and he tugged back on the leash.  “Shush.”  Both dogs stopped growling and looked up at their master.  “He's not worth it.”  America sighed, and started leading them along the sidewalk again, as his mind wandered off in thought again.  He climbed the small hill, and rounded a corner onto the main road. Maybe he should move back down south.  America had spent most of his time bouncing around his land.  Experimenting with different locations, and he was starting to miss his former Confederates.  Sure they didn't always like him too much more than his northern children, but at least they weren't as rude, and had the decency to respect him. 

Off somewhere, down the road, there was the distinct sound of tires screeching.  Hawaii and Alaska bristled at the sound, growling low in their throats.  America tensed up, feeling uneasy.  Something was wrong.  Suddenly, a car swirled around the turn, ahead of him, driving with reckless abandon down the road.  America saw visions.  Strange interpretations of the sight before him.  The car almost seemed like it would fly up at any moment.  It's sleek bottle nosed design giving it a very aerial feel.

Even though the following events seemed to slow down in time, America was still not completely sure what happened.  He barely had time to react as the vehicle flew towards him, and he could see someone hanging out of the front window.  A bright flash of fire and steel.  Five loud bangs and America felt like his body was ignited with each shot ripping through his skin.  Just as quickly as it appeared, the car sped off into the distance.  America's arms clutched around his body.  He had been shot before, but this pain was so intense.  So spread out, that his head was in a daze.  All he could see was red, and gray swirling through his vision.  He stumbled backwards, and fell against the brick wall. Trying to stay on his feet.  Hands scraped against the hard brick; unable to find any support to hold onto, when his legs finally gave out.

What was going on?  Why was this happening?  America hit the concrete, curling in on himself.  Vital parts of his body were failing.  Destroyed, and he needed to do something about it.  After all, if he couldn't pick himself back up... who could?

xXx

A sharp spike struck through Canada's head.  It was so sudden, and so painful that he dropped the plate of pancakes onto the kitchen table.  The plate didn't break or anything, but the contents did spill over.  He dropped a hand against the table, pressing the palm of the other into his head.  What was going on?

Kumajirou lazily waddled over towards the table, and climbed on up.  He took full note of the unguarded pancakes and started eating them.  It was only when Canada slumped into a chair, his head falling onto the table, that he noticed his distress.  “What's wrong with you?”

The pain had started to dull, but Canada was suddenly very tired.  “I don't know.”  He moaned, lifting his head slowly from the table.  “I just feel...”  He dragged a hand  back up to his head.  “Uneasy.”

Canada was startled by his phone ringing.  “Uh oh.”  First, this unsettling sensation, and now his phone's ringing.  That was never a good sign.

“You're so jumpy.”  Kumajirou stated plainly, not even concerning himself with the phone as Canada made his way to answer.

“Y-yes?”

“Matthew, there's been a problem.”

Canada bit his bottom lip at the urgent sound of his Prime Minister's voice.  “What's happened?”

“America's been attacked.”

Canada's heart sank, his ears deafening to a large chunk of the report.  “Alfred?”  He squeaked, feeling sick.  The Prime Minister continued with something about him sorting out some issues with the President, and told Canada to see to the nation.

Canada forced his mind to focus and nodded.  He received his brother's location, and hung up.  He gathered his things in a flash, and ran out the door, calling back for Kumajirou to behave himself, and stay inside.

He bolted to the car, and immediately set out for the border.  In no time at all Canada closed in on the area where America had been shot.  There seemed to be a large crowd gathered around the area.  Canada pulled up to the side of the road and ran for the crowd.  The air was thick with the mutterings of confusion and concern as Canada tried to push his way through the crowd.  It was a rather difficult trek, with the masses goose-necking to get a good look at what had happened.  He pushed his way through, but so many people seemed to be resisting his entry. Canada forced his way through the crowd, leaving many annoyed Americans in his wake.  He didn't care.  His head was in a haze, only trying to focus on his destination in the center of the crowd. Alfred was definitely hurt.  He could feel that, but it couldn't be too bad.  It just couldn't be.  He was mentally shouting at these people to get out of his way, but his voice failed him, in his hasten urgency.

Finally, he made it to the center, his eyes falling in shock on America.  The last of his breath left his body.  Limbs instantly going numb.  America was laying there unconscious in a pool of his own blood.  This wasn't as good as he was hoping for.  “ALFRED!”  He cried, ducking under the police tape, and raced for his brother's side.  An inner layer of popperatzi and camera men were being held back by another circle of police.  So, when some of the cops realized he had broken the perimeter they rushed to stop him.  Two grabbed his arms, a  third stepping up in front of him.  “I'm sorry sir, we can't let you any closer.”

“You don't understand!”  Canada pleaded with them, his eyes flicking between the cops and America. “That's my brother.  I need to help him.”

The officer in front of him furrowed his brows in confusion.  “What do you mean, your brother?  Who are you?”

“You idiot.  That's Canada.”  A man who must have been the chief stated, making his way over.  “Let him go.”

“Canada?  Oh.”  The cops released him, and Canada bolted to America's side before he even had a chance to apologize.  He skidded to his knees, next to his brother, pulling off his coat.  “Alfred?”  Canada slid his coat over America, and rolled him onto his back, making sure to keep the coat wrapped around him.  “Alfred, wake up!”

Alaska and Hawaii had been locked in a cop car.  Most likely because they would have insisted on assisting their master.  They had quieted down, but started barking again, once Canada came into the picture.

“There's an ambulance on its way.” The chief stated, making his way over.  “Don't know what good it'll do.”

Canada shook his head, unbuttoning America's shirt to get to the wounds.  “Who did this?”

“We're not sure.  He was awake briefly, but said he couldn't get a good look at them.”

“Fine.”  Canada huffed, looking over the bullet holes, barely able to contain his tears.  There were three holes imbedded into his torso, a forth having grazed his left shoulder.  Canada opened a med kit he had brought with him, and tried to patch up the wounds of the two that passed clean through. “Alfred?  Alfred, look at me.”  He pressed a wad of bandages over the wounds, applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding.  America made a strangled sound of pain.  Canada's other hand came up towards his head, leaning in close to him.  “Alfred.  Open your eyes.  Look at me.”  He lightly patted his cheek.  “I need you to wake up, ok.  You have to stay with me.”

America moaned softly, his unfocused eyes trying to open.  “M-Ma-ie.”

Canada scooted his legs in closer, leaning in more so that only his brother could hear him.  “Come on, Alfred.  You're stronger than this.  Wake up.  You can't die on me, do you understand?”

“I und... stand.”  He coughed, blood trailing from his mouth.  “S-s-ry.”  Canada quickly dried his eyes.  He needed to stay calm here.  “Alfred!  Don't you dare die.  I need you.  You have to stay alive, for me.  Alfred?  Keep your eyes on me.”  He gripped his good arm, trying not to agitate any of his wounds as he tried to shake him awake.  America's eyes would not stay open.  “ALFRED!”  He sobbed.  His resolve was there, but the fear was pushing it away.  He couldn't remember the last time he saw his brother this bad off.  “Alfred, please.  Don't leave me.”  Canada only vaguely registered the approaching sirens.

America hummed softly, forcing his eyes open.  “Hey... Ma-ttie.”  His voice sounded strained, but at least there was some kind of focus to his eyes.  His breathing sounding ragged from the pain.

“Hey, Al.”  Canada stroked a hand through his hair.  “You gonna be ok?”

America nodded slowly, trying to force a smile.  “I think so.  I mean... look at them.”  He screwed his eyes up to the mob of citizens gathered around them. “Look at their concern.”  He coughed again, but it soon shifted into more of a laugh.  “It's funny, how much they start caring... when they realize I could die at any... second.”

“Don't be silly.”  Canada sniffed, his fingers still twining through America's hair.  “You're people love you.”

America's smile slowly melted, and he gently shook his head.  “I've been around them, for so long. Some of them still like me, but most hate me.”  He gasped, suddenly finding it very difficult to breath.  “Just like everyone else.”

“Not true.”  Canada kissed him on the forehead, settling their heads together.  “I don't hate you.”  His tears slipped onto America's cheek.  “I could never hate you, and I doubt I'm the only one.”

America smirked, closing his eyes again.  “Sweet lie, Matt.  Wish it were true.”

“What are you talking about, of course it's... true?”  Canada lifted his eyes to see his brother had fallen under again.  “Alfred?”  He gasped, trying to shake him awake, again, but America wasn't responding this time.  The harsh breathing had even stopped.

There were some murmurs from the crowd, about what was going on.  A few even sounded worried.

They were right to be. 

“Alfred, wake up.”  The sirens, from the ambulance started to drown everything out.  Canada hitched America up into his arms, trying to shake him awake.  However, his body was completely limp.  “Alfred!”  America's head lolled back uselessly, his eyes opening very slightly.  Enough to see a vague sheen glinting off the once bright blue.  Canada gasped for breath, shaking him harder, as he cried.  “Alfred, no!  You're not supposed to die!  Wake up!” 

Canada was shivering, and laid his brother on the ground.   “Alfred?”  His voice felt weaker, hand sliding onto his pulse point.  There was none.  “No... Al, no.” Canada dropped his head onto America's chest, fingers curling into his shirt.  “Alfred, come back.”  He sobbed, curling in closer to his brother.  The paramedics, from the ambulance made their way through the crowd, gathering around the two nations.  It was uncertain whether they knew who they were or not.  A female paramedic laid her hand on Canada's shoulder.  “I'm sorry, sir, but we need you to back up.”  Canada sat back on his feet, letting them look over his brother.  What they were really going to do, he didn't know.

There was a dull hush in the crowd behind him.  Some mutters came from the onlooker, then something flashed behind him.  A few more flashes, and clicks started around them.  Canada raised his head to see what was going on.  There were some people in the crowd that looked horrified by the situation, some actually tearing up, but what really got to him were the bystanders with camera's flashing away at them.  The video cameras rolling, and reporters struggling to get a statement from the police.  Canada looked down at America, then slid closer to hide his face from them. “What is wrong with these people?”

One flash in his face briefly made him see stars. He held a hand up to block his eyes.  “Why are you... stop it!”  After a few seconds of this, Canada started to growl at them.  “STOP IT!”  He finally shouted, rising to his feet.  The flashes stopped, and everyone stared at Canada shell shocked.  “Your nation is dead!  Do you not understand what this means!?”  When no one responded, Canada decided to continue, his fists clenching to where his nails dug into his palms.  “It means you are all in crisis!  With your homeland gone, it's up to you to try and sort this mess out.  You can't just rely on him to do it anymore, and quite frankly I think you owe him.”  Canada's palms started dripping blood, trying to retain his rage for these people. “You have all been killing him for years.  Forsaking your homeland. Obsessing over how much you hate him.  Believing that you should be ashamed to live here.  Falling into the mindset that just because some other nations hate America that he is a horrible nation, when you don't realize how fortunate you are!”  Canada had to stop to catch his breath since he ran the sentence to the last, and was starting to squeak.  His face fell towards the ground, finding he couldn't look at them anymore.  “You take advantage of his sacrifice.  You have no idea what he's been through so that you could live happily, and none of you even care!”  He snapped, looking up at them again, tears streaming down his face.  “You always say you'd prefer to live somewhere else, so why don't you try it, then see how long it takes you to come crawling back.”  Canada's eyes drifted back to his brother, to see the paramedics were watching him as well, (Apparently they were just as lost on what they could do for their fallen nation.) then whipped back to the crowd.  “America is dead, and it's all your fault.  So show some God damn respect and fix this!”  He pointed back to America.  “As his people, you're the only ones who can!”

Canada spun away from them, wiping his face, and made his way back towards America.  He had said it, but still couldn't believe he was really gone.  “He was always so optimistic about your opinions towards him.”  Canada brushed his eyes, kneeling next to his brother again.  Pulling his body tightly into his arms.  “He was convinced that someone somewhere still loved him, and took your insults in good spirits.”  Canada sniffed, stroking his brother's hair.  “I don't know how he does it.”

There was silence, again, which some people took as an opportunity to wander away.  One of the paramedics dropped a hand onto Canada's shoulders.  “What do you want us to do?”

Canada closed his eyes, brushing the tears again.  He didn't really know.  There wasn't really anything they could do.  There wasn't much he could do.  “Just patch up his body... then take him to my house.”

Reluctantly, Canada moved away to allow them to load America into the ambulance.  They didn't really appear too fond of this idea, but seeing as they seemed to recognize him now, they didn't question it.  Canada rose to his feet, and followed, not daring to look at his brother's ungrateful citizens. Granted, he was partially to blame for spoiling them, like he did, but the mindset was understandable.  A parent always wanted better for their children.  Oppression and war was a horrible, terrifying experience.  America did everything in his power to shield them from this... unfortunately there was a point where that shield would distance them too much.  When even the ones that still remembered would forget.

xXx

The paramedics removed two bullets from his torso, quite easily since they didn't have to worry about him dying.  The only problem was that one of the bullets had lodged into his third lumbar vertebra, and chipped a piece off in the process.  Canada wasn't too sure how this would effect him, but he made sure to call the President once America was safe in his home. 

When Canada hung up the phone, he moved to sit on the bed next to America, and took his hand.  Hawaii and Alaska had returned home with him, and were laying along the other side of the bed.  They laid there quietly, aside from the occasional whimper.  They weren't eating either, and didn't seem to want to leave their master's side until he had awakened. 

America's wounds weren't healing like they should, but that was to be expected.  Their bosses were battling out some kind of diplomacy, and Canada was starting to feel so helpless.  All he could do was shelter America, in his home, until he'd recovered.  If he recovered.  America was vulnerable, and he was going to do everything in his power to protect him.

xXx

There was coverage of the attacks playing nonstop on the news, over the next few days, along with multiple addresses from President Bush.  The attack was brought on by al-Qaeda hijackers taking over planes set out for America.  America's World Trade Center, commonly known as the Twin Towers, and a large section of the Pentagon had been taken out by the attacks, but one plane, (thought to be destined for the White House) hit a snag when the American passengers fought back.  They lost their lives, but had stopped it from hitting any more vital areas.  A point Canada felt his brother would be quite proud of.  Casualties reached a count of about 3,000, including 227 passengers, and all 19 terrorists.

Canada had been getting constant updates from the president, about repairs to their nation.  One of the biggest debates was whether or not to replace the damaged spinal column.  (Aka: The Twin Towers)  Some seemed to think it was a good reminder of what had happened, but others believed, by not repairing such a vital part that the terrorists would win.  They had already crippled their nation.  If this was left unchecked, then America could be destroyed completely.  Obviously Canada had his own input about what he wanted to happen, but it wasn't his place to say. 

xXx

About two and a half weeks after the attacks, Canada heard frantic knocking on his door.  Canada had started over towards it, then heard England's voice calling for him to hurry and answer.  He froze, debating on whether or not it was a good idea to let him in.  It was fairly common knowledge that America was weakened, but he doubted any of the other nations knew that he was dead.  Would it be safe to let England know?  Would America want him to know?

“Matthew, please say that you're there.  I  need to speak with you.”  England's voice sounded a bit shaken.  Like he was actually worried.  Obviously he had to know he was there.  His car was parked outside.  “Matthew, please, don't you ignore me too.”

The accusation hit Canada square in the chest, and he crossed the last few steps to the door.  Although, he slid the chain latch into place before opening it.  “What's the matter, Arthur?”  The half of England's face he could see looked shocked.  “Don't try that.  You know very well what the matter is. I've been trying to contact you and Alfred both for weeks now, but I can't find him anywhere.  You would know better than anyone else.  Is he alright?”  There was a glint of pain flitting across England's face, and Canada had to turn away from him.

“Matthew.  Do you know where he is?”

Canada considered, for a moment. “I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say.”  He chanced a quick glimpse to England, and made to shut the door.  “I'm sorry, Arthur.”

“Please.”  England slid an arm in the door, up to his shoulder, to keep him from shutting him out. Canada stopped, afraid of hurting him.  The pained gleam in England's eyes kept him from turning away again.  “Please, Matthew... I just need to know that he's alright.”

The consideration stretched on, and Canada was hoping that expression was genuine.  There was no way England would want to hurt him.  He just wanted to know that America was ok, but Canada couldn't really say he was.  It just wasn't in his nature to lie to him.  Finally, he wrenched his gaze away and sighed. “He's fine.  A little worn out, but he's ok.  Now if you don't mind, I have some work to do.”  This time, when Canada made to shut the door, England slammed his hand into it, startling him backwards. “Don't lie to me, Matthew!”  He growled, rage flashing briefly over his eyes.  “I just want to see him... that's all.  I swear to you, I mean him no harm.”

His eyes continued to plead through the small crack in the door.  Canada's brain was at war with itself, trying to decide whether or not he should risk his brother's safety, just because England was flashing him puppy eyes.  If even one other nation found out he was dead, then this could cause real problems, if America didn't wake up soon.  Canada's eyes narrowed, daringly.  “If you say anything to anybody-”

“I swear, I won't.”  England insisted, his hands pressing against the door.  “I just need to know.”

A few seconds later Canada shut the door, and slid the chain out of the lock to open it.  When England started in, Canada held out a hand to stop him.  He grabbed his arm, pulled him back outside, and checked around the area.  There wasn't anyone else in sight, but that didn't mean someone couldn't be hiding.  Finally, Canada gave England one more look of warning, and released his arm.  

“He's in my guest room.”  Canada stated, after they were safe inside.

England took off, running down the hall, and up the short staircase, towards the room.  Canada followed close behind, plucking a hockey stick from his wall.  He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but insurance was never a bad thing.

“Alfred!?”  England threw himself onto the bed, his heart leaping into his throat at the sight of him.  “Alfred, are you... alr..... Al-fred?”  It didn't take England too long to assess the full situation.  “Oh no.”  All color drained from his face, brushing a hand through America's hair. “Oh, Alfred.”  His entire body seemed to deflate.  Canada stood by the door, finally starting to settle down with seeing England's eyes tearing up.  His gaze flicked to the dogs, still settling next to their master.  They were keeping their eyes on England as well, but their silence was a good sign.  If they ever sensed any kind of threat to America, they would have been growling.  Maybe he could trust England.

“So this is why you've been so reclusive.”

“Huh?”

“Drawing the curtains.  You being so quiet and on edge.  Why you were so against letting me in.”  His voice quieted, staring down at America.  “You've been protecting him.  Hoping he'll wake up.”

“He will wake up.”  Canada stated, a sharp snap to his voice.  There was no reason to counter this.  He shouldn't give anyone a chance to say otherwise.  “He has to.”

England finally looked up at him. “Matthew.”

Canada shook his head, biting his bottom lip.  “Don't look at me, like that.  He will wake up.”

“I know, Matthew.”  England got to his feet, and made his way over.  “But it's not easy for someone to come back to life.”  His hands slipped onto his shoulders, brushing at his hair.  “Not even for a nation.”  Canada dropped his gaze, and the hockey stick.  “If one dies, it'll take a fair bit of repair and support to get him back on his feet.  Even then he might never come fully back to-”

“You should leave now.”  Canada chimed quietly.

“What?”

Canada looked up at him, tears hiding behind his eyes.  “You've seen him.  You know what's going on.  Now you should leave.”

“Matthew.”  England cupped the younger nation's face in his hands, brushing the loose strands from his face.  He had grown so much.  “You don't have to deal with this alone.”

“I can handle it.”  Canada smacked his hands away.  “All I have to do is shelter him, so you are free to go.  And if you dare to tell anyone-”  He stepped threateningly into England, not ashamed to use his size to intimidate him.  “I will personally destroy you.  I don't care what you ever were to either of us.  I will not allow you to endanger my brother. Am I clear?”

England was definitely scared of this new side of Canada, and stepped back before he started to show how much so.  “I understand.”  England looked back to America, and made his way back over.  He leaned over and kissed his former son on the forehead, whispering something to him.  One last lingering look, and England made to leave.  Canada followed him to the door. England stopped briefly, and turned back to Canada, flashing him a small smile.  “You let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, but I can handle it. You just prepare for what's coming.”

England's brows furrowed.  “What do you mean?”

“Alfred's not going to take this attack lying down, you and I both know that.”  He moved to open the door, gesturing for England to leave.  “The President's already talking about a counterstrike.”  His eyes fell back towards the ground.  “I'm more on edge about what he's going to wake up into, than anything else.”

xXx

Other nations continued to try and contact America, only able to get a hold of Canada.  England had seemed to be true to his vow of secrecy.  No one gave any indication of knowledge of America's status, only concern for his well being. It was a bit much to have to deal with, considering his major concern for America.  However, it was a bit of a lift to have so many concerned nations, caring for his brother's well-being.  Some allies he didn't even know America had asking how they could help.  Even still, it was difficult to placate the inquisition, while keeping needed secrecy.  The one thing to help him cope with this was Germany proclaiming that he wasn't going to force Canada to disclose any information of his well being.  Just to let America know that he was ready to assist in any way he could, whenever he was back on his feet.  After which the calls gently receded.

xXx

Canada continued to tend to America in any way he could.  His body was wrapped tightly in a cocoon of heated blankets to try and keep some heat in him.  Canada worked his joints and muscles.  Physical therapy to try and make sure he could retain some sense of mobility, when he finally woke up.  Although, as more time passed, America's joints only got stiffer.  More difficult to move, and Canada was starting to get discouraged.  He tried so hard to keep some kind of hope alive, but it was getting more and more difficult.  The strain was definitely taking its toll on him. His strength was depleted, and his head felt like it was in a constant haze.  His reflection was depleted and pale and he barely recognized himself anymore.  He could feel himself slipping into a deeper depression, and was losing any desire to even eat.  But he couldn't let himself weaken.  America needed him to protect him.  He would wake up.  He had to wake up, and needed Canada to be strong for him, until he did.  This was important.  He needed to stay strong. He had to.

xXx

“ _Hurry up and come back.  Your brother needs you.”_

Longer than he even thought possible, England's voice echoed in his head.  Way before he could even begin to register the meaning of these strange words.

America's head swam through his vision.  Unsure of why everything was so blurry.  There was no feeling in his head, on down through his toes.  He was staring up at the ceiling, finding he was starting to recognize the light fixture. What had even happened to him?  What was he doing here?  He figured he must have been laying on a bed of some sort, but it might have been a cloud, for all he could feel.  He tried to find some kind of way to move, but there was no strength in his body.  Only a light airy sensation spreading through his nerves.  The numbness was only interrupted by the sharp pain in his stomach.  Even the smallest movement; a slight flex of a muscle, sent an electric shock of pain through his nerves.  What the hell happened?

His mind formulated the image of several airplanes flying towards him, from somewhere off in the distance.  The sight of them caused a swell of terror, in his stomach, but as hard as he tried to run away from them, he couldn't move.  Even still, the airplanes never seemed to be getting any closer.  They were hovering directly in front of him, with no clear sign of progression, or even a retreat.  From inside of each plane, a hooded figure emerged.  All he could make out was the image of those wicked grins gleaming at him.  Four gloved hands raised up and threw something at him.

America didn't know what it was, but instantly, his entire body felt like it had burst into flames.  The fires cut down to the bone, and America began to scream.

At least he thought he was.

“ _Come back.”_

On the outside, America had appeared to have fallen asleep again, and was lightly moaning.  To him, however, there was an intense muscle memory of agony.  He couldn't move, or even try to put the fires out.  All he could do was scream, and call for help.  Why wasn't anyone coming to his aid?

Alaska raised her head, at the sound of her master's distress, and whimpered.  She settled closer, and laid her head on his shoulder.  Soon, Hawaii woke up to investigate as well.  He was a little less aware that America was still under, but he made his way over anyway, settling in next to Alaska.  Still holding his front half up, Hawaii leaned over and licked his master's sweat soaked face. 

“ _Hurry up and come back.”_

Finally, America managed to wrench his eyes open, and looked around the room again.  His breathing was harsh, and his lungs burned with each inhale.  It felt like he had swallowed burning sand, with the way his throat strained and gritted.

Alaska raised her head and ruffed quietly, brushing a paw against America's cheek.  His head fell towards her, eyes taking far too long to focus on his precious state. He swallowed a number of times, trying to moisten his dry throat. “Al-”  The rest of the Husky's name faded away till he was just mouthing it.  Barely anything wanted to come out.  The only sounds he could make were low and inaudible. 

Alaska and Hawaii both whimpered. They didn't want to see him like this.

America resolved to try and force himself to get up.  This stupidity wasn't going to keep him down. Very very slowly, and with great effort, America managed to situate his arms to where he was propped up on his elbows.  The air pressure felt like it dropped dramatically, with just that small movement. His lungs seemed as though they had been deflated, and were just now trying to figure out how to breath again.  When he finally managed to sit up, (A position most would consider still laying down, but a great success for him.) his entire body was shaking from the force of trying to stay upright.

Alaska and Hawaii continued to make concerned sounds, but Hawaii had transferred to a lower spot, on the bed, just in case his master needed him.

America gently rolled over, having to reach a hand over to grab the edge of the bed for assistance.  He didn't know what was wrong with him, but there was no way in hell he'd let in stop him.  He had once managed to pull himself into a trench with both legs broken, and a dislocated shoulder.  He could beat this.  He was the United States of America, for Christ's sake.

His head hung down, between his shoulders, trying to catch his breath.  He could beat this.  It didn't matter what happened.  There was no force on Earth that could destroy America.

Hawaii jumped to the floor, skittering anxiously, and Alaska got to her feet, behind him, nudging America's back with her head. 

America turned his head to her, and smile gently.  He tried to say, 'good girl' but it just came out as a horse squeak. 

Once he'd recovered his breathing, America raised his head to observe the room again.  He had been seeing it in vague flashes, for some time now, but this was the first time he could really take in what it looked like.  Of course, he recognized it, but what was he doing in Canada's house?  Obviously, he had been hurt, so maybe his brother was looking after him.  That sounded like something he would do.

“ _Hurry up and come back.  Your brother needs you.”_

America groaned, dropping his head onto the pillow.  “Mattie.” 

With another great effort, his hand still gripping the edge of the bed, America forced his legs over the side, and dropped to his knees.  His head fell onto the bed, trying to clear the grit from his throat.  Alright, one major step down.  He was out of the bed.  If he was able to, he'd call out to see if Canada was here to ask him what happened.  But, since he couldn't talk, America was going to have to go find him.  It was perfectly logical.

One of America's hands made its way to the bedside table, the other going flat against the mattress.  It may have helped him to realize his glasses laying near his hand, but there were other issues that required his attention.  Like trying to force strength into his appendages.  Putting most of his weight on the table, America strained to push himself up, inwardly rooting himself on.  His arm gave out only once, before he was able to push himself to his feet, but once up fell heavily against the wall.  Both dogs were by his side now, keeping a careful eye on their master, just in case something happened.

Inch by tiring inch, America dragged himself along the wall, and up to the door.  He settled himself along the door frame, laying his hand on the door nob.  This was definitely an unforeseen circumstance.  He could easily move his hand to try and turn the handle, but there wasn't enough strength behind his grip to make it move with his hand. 

As the ever helpful pup she was, Alaska stood on her hind legs and wrapped her front paws around the nob.  It took a bit of finagling, but she managed to turn the nob, and the door swung open.

America sighed, letting his hand fall onto her head.  “Good girl.”  He croaked, though still rather lightly.

Preceding him, Hawaii darted out the door, and took off down the hallway, while Alaska hung back with her master.  America swung like a rag doll out the door, and started inching along; leaning very heavily on the wall.  Canada's room was at the end of the hall.  Maybe he was in there.  Judging by the lack of light coming through the windows, America assumed it was nighttime.  Hopefully Canada was asleep, in his room.  Luckily, for him, it was a very short hallway.

When he reaching his brother's bedroom, America lay on the wall, and knocked.  Surprisingly, a lot harder than he thought he could.  After a short moment of no answer, America tried the door nob.  It took a bit, but he managed to get this one open.  The door swung lazily into the dark room, and the silhouette of the bed could be seen through the moonlight.  “Matt.” America choked out, trying to focus his eyes on the bed.  It was possible he couldn't hear him.  After all, Canada was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, but once his eyes finally adjusted, he could make out that there was no sign of his little brother sleeping here.

America sighed, falling flat against the wall.  He took a moment to try and catch his breath again, before starting off.  America dragged himself back towards the secondary hallway, and around the corner.  His legs burned and shook from the strain of having to stay upright, but there was no way he was going to succumb again.  America was just far too stubborn for this.

Canada didn't really have an up or downstairs, but his was a split level home, so there was a small flight of stairs leading into a third hallway, which led to the den and kitchen.  America looked down this ominous sight of six stairs, his head suddenly feeling they were his greatest opponent. Fortunately, there was hand rail he could use to help him out.

Alaska whimpered unsure, but stuck by his side.  Resolving to let him do what he needed to.

Very gently, America traced one of his feet over the edge of the first stair.  Shortly followed by his other foot.  If he went slow, he should make it.  Although, one thing America failed to take into account is that once he was on his feet, he didn't need to really bend his knees.  On the third step down, America settled down his first foot.  His leg was shaking, but this was nothing unusual.  Unfortunately, once he shifted the weight to this leg, his knee seized up and dropped him down the rest of the way.

xXx

Hawaii skidded in through the kitchen and into the den, where the light from the TV was flickering over the dark room.  Kumajirou was perched in front of the television, his eyes possibly going unfocused as he watched.  Hawaii looked around, until he finally found where Canada was splayed out along the length of his couch.  He had passed out some time ago, trying to keep his eyes on the news feeds to try and keep up on what was happening.

Hawaii leaped onto Canada's back, and barked at him.

Canada moaned, stretching out his limbs, but otherwise still asleep.

Hawaii grumbled, and jumped back onto the floor.  Canada's arm was draped over the side of the couch, falling towards the ground, inciting the small Pariah to grab his sleeve between his teeth and started pulling.

Canada registered that he was being pulled off the couch, led by his hand, and started to wake up.  “Huh? Wha?”  As he heard him, Hawaii let go, and yipped lightly. 

Canada's eyes fully focused on the dog, situating his glasses back onto his face.  “Hawaii?  What're you doing down here?”  Canada gasped, realizing that he must have been here about America.  Seconds after he realized this, there was a series of thuds coming from the other room.  “Oh, God.  Alfred.” He jumped to his feet, and bolted around towards the stairs, Hawaii at his heels.

Canada closed in on the stairs to see America crumpled at the base, trying very hard to push himself up.  A distressed Alaska attempting to help him.  Canada dropped down next to him, grabbing his shoulders.  “Alfred, what are you doing?”

A hand came up to grip Canada's arm, and squeezed very weakly.  It was at that moment that it really clicked for him.  America was awake.  He was alive... but was he really able again.  “Come on, Al.”  Canada pulled one of America's arms around his shoulder, and pulled him to his feet. America had gone completely limp now, but he was breathing.  Trying very hard to position his own feet under him.

Canada dragged America into the den, and deposited him on the couch.  He cut the side table lamp on and sat down next to him.  America's head fell back, his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.  Canada squeezed one of his hands.  His skin still felt cold, but he was definitely more responsive.  He cupped the other hand around America's face, turning it towards him. “Alfred, look at me.  How are you feeling?”

America moaned lightly, but was able to open his eyes.  His brilliant blue eyes still seemed to be glazed over, but at least that milky sheen was gone.  “Ma-Mattie?  What- what happened?”

Canada felt his heart drop, tears pricking at his eyes.  “Don't worry about that right now.  Here lay down.”  Canada stood, and gently lowered America onto the couch. America protested vocally, but that was about all he could muster. “Now hold on.  I just need to check you over.”  Canada perched on the edge of the couch, and unbuttoned America's shirt, looking over the wounds.  Having to roll him onto his side to check his back.  The bullet wounds were healed up, but had left harsh ugly scars. Especially the exit wounds.  One thing that did dumbfound Canada was a stretch of what appeared to be burn scars connecting the bullet wounds.  A little bit around the front, but was more profound as they left.  As though charting a course of flames from his lower back up to his shoulder.  It wasn't like this before.

Canada was startled by a light touch brushing his cheek.  He glanced down to America, vaguely registering the tears on his face.  He shook his head brushing a hand through America's hair.  “It's fine.  I'm just happy to see you're ok.”

“ _Your brother needs you.”_

If he had the strength, America would have kicked himself for just laying around while Canada had to deal with this disaster alone.  He needed to do something, but first:

“What happened?”  America coughed, straining on the words.

Canada bit his lip, and slid down to the ground, falling be eye level with his brother.  “Something bad.”  He told America about the attacks on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon.  Everything about who had done it, and the lives lost, from both ends, during this catastrophe.  He had to know one way or another, so it did him no good to try and hide it.  Then Canada stopped, his voice cracking anytime he tried to speak.  His throat felt like it was just as strained as America's when he finally spoke again.    Unfortunately, nothing coherent would come out anymore.

America watched his brother, as he spoke, taking in the strain of his features.  The way he tried way too hard to act as though he were ok.  To pretend that he hadn't lost far too much sleep.  He was a great deal thinner.  The dark rings under his eyes standing out in stark contrast against the pale sallow skin.  A barrier had been constructed under his calm demeanor.  One he would give almost anything to keep anyone from breaking through it.  A barrier America had constructed himself, a long time ago.  He had been down for a long time, and Canada had been taking care of him... but that wasn't all.  Something else was far deeper. 

Canada licked his lips, trying to find his voice again.  “Bush has already sent troops to Afghanistan to try and find the man responsible for this and-”

“Matthew?”  America started softly, brushing his brother's hair with a still shaking hand.  “I died... didn't I?”

Just like that, the wall cracked; everything he wanted to hide screaming through his eyes.  “Alfred.” Canada squeaked, visibly resisting letting the tears fall.  “I-I don't-”

“It's ok.”  With increasingly improved effort, America pushed himself onto his elbows, resting a hand on the side of Canada's neck.  “Just... how long?”

Canada wrapped a hand around his, lowering his eyes.  “Nearly three months.”  He spoke softly, teeth grinding in anger of the time.  The short gasp, from America made him look up again.  “Alfred?”

“That long huh?”  His eyes landed on his brother's face, and the conflict flitting across his features.  Slowly, America drew Canada in closer, head falling heavily onto his shoulder, hand sliding around his neck.

“I'm ok, really.”  Canada gasped, trying very hard to keep himself in check.

America laughed short.  “How many times have I said that?”

“Shut up.”  Canada gasped, wrapping his arms around America's neck.  “I'm nothing like you.”

“You're just as stubborn as I am, that's for sure.”  He laid back against the couch, brushing those stubborn tears away.  “I'm alright now.”

Flashes of the news feeds caught America's eyes.  They were reshowing footage from the attacks, and the devastating results from the crumbling buildings.  Interviews with people, who had lost loved ones, in these tragic events.

Also, of course, coupled with another reoccurring news feed.  President George W. Bush's address to the people.  Standing at his podium, with the American flag behind him, and hundreds of people gathered around to hear his words.  _“Good Evening.  Today, our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist acts._

“ _The victims were in airplanes or in their offices -- secretaries, businessmen and women, military and federal workers.  Moms and dads.  Friends and neighbors._

“ _Thousands of lives were suddenly ended by evil, despicable acts of terror._

“ _The pictures of airplanes flying into buildings, fires burning, huge structures collapsing, have filled us with disbelief, terrible sadness and a quiet, unyielding anger.”_

America's eyes sparked with pain and fear.  The lingering burning sensations still had a hold of him, but that wasn't the worst of it.  These terrorists had been living inside of him for some time, before their attack, and he hadn't even realized it.  Schooled in flight in his own back yard.  Now, his true citizens were suffering and scared at these events.  How had he not seen it coming?  His own inability to see what was right in front of him had led to this.

Canada glanced back from the TV and noted the severe drop in his brother's eyes.  He brought a hand up and brushed America's bangs from his face.  “Alfred?”

“I need to get to the White House.”

“What?  No.”  Canada cried, grasping his shoulders.  Merely a habit, since America didn't have the strength to run for it, but he'd learned long ago not to underestimate his brother.  “What are you thinking?  You're not fully recovered, yet.”

“I-”  He grunted, his arm giving out under the weight.  “I need to do something about this, Matthew. I can't just lie here and-”

“Yes you can.  Running out to get yourself killed again isn't going to help anything.  You can rest up, and then join in the fight.  I don't want to lose you again.” Canada nearly screamed, not even bothering to fight the tears coating his cheeks.

America settled down, with the confession, staring at his brother in awe.  His eyes stung, and his demeanor deflated until he almost collapsed to the couch.  “What choice do I have?”  He asked softly, swallowing at a limp in his throat.  “I can't just lay around while my people are in turmoil. If I don't protect them, who will?”

“ _These acts of mass murder were intended to frighten our nation into chaos and retreat. But they have failed.  Our country is strong.  A great people has been moved to defend a great nation.”_

“Huh?”

America and Canada both turned to the screen again, with Bush's emphasis in tone.

“ _Terrorist attacks can shake the foundations of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch the foundation of America.  These acts shatter steel, but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve._

“ _America was targeted for attack because we're the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world.  And no one will keep that light from shining._

“ _Today, our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature, and we responded with the best of America, with the daring of our rescue workers, with the caring for strangers and neighbors who came to give blood and help in any way they could.”_

America's eyes widened.  A light sparking in them, from his words. 

“ _Immediately following the first attack, I implemented our government's emergency response plans. Our military is powerful, and it's prepared.  Our emergency teams are working in New York City and Washington, D.C., to help with local rescue efforts._

“ _Our first priority is to get help to those who have been injured and to take every precaution to protect our citizens at home and around the world from further attacks._

“ _The functions of our government continue without interruption.  Federal agencies in Washington which had to be evacuated today are reopening for essential personnel tonight and will be open for business tomorrow._

“ _Our financial institutions remain strong, and the American economy will be open for business as well._

“ _The search is underway for those who are behind these evil acts.  I've directed the full resources for our intelligence and law enforcement communities to find those responsible and bring them to justice.  We will make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who harbor them._

“ _I appreciate so very much the members of Congress who have joined me in strongly condemning these attacks.  And on behalf of the American people, I thank the many world leaders who have called to offer their condolences and assistance._

“ _America and our friends and allies join with all those who want peace and security in the world and we stand together to win the war against terrorism.”_

By this point, America's jaw was hanging open in awe.  It was strange enough to think that the government was still going strong, without him, but other world leaders?  They really cared that much to support him?

“ _Tonight I ask for your prayers for all those who grieve, for the children whose worlds have been shattered, for all whose sense of safety and security has been threatened.  And I pray they will be comforted by a power greater than any of us spoken through the ages in Psalm 23: "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me."_

“ _This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace.   America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time.”_

We?

“ _None of us will ever forget this day, yet we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world._

“ _Thank you. Good night and God bless America.”_

The speech was followed by cheers, and cameras flashing away, recording the memory.

Canada could feel the droop in his brother's shoulders, and turned back to look at him.  America had a mixed look of joy and disbelief.  His lips wanted to curl into a vague smile, as silent tears ran down his face.  There were so many flags.  People waving them and chanting his name.  It had been so long since he had seen his people this unified and supportive.  So willing to help and protect him.  “They.”  He started, swallowing against his still dry throat.  “They really do still love me.” It held a note of questioning disbelief.

Canada smiled.  “Yes, Alfred, they do.  It's a shame that it took something like this to bring it out, but deep down, all of your children still love you, and will unify to protect you.”

America's demeanor dropped.  What was even more surprising is that they'd done all this without his leadership.  “It's almost like they don't need me anymore.”  It wasn't sound logic, but his head wasn't really all there yet.  He laid back down, against the couch, and Canada sat up next to him.  A hand gently petting his hair.  “That'll never be true.”  Canada responded softly.  Now that his blood was flowing again, America was definitely feverish.  Although it was difficult to tell if it was from the attacks, or his people's blood boiling from it.  “I guarantee they need you now, more than ever.  But at your full strength.  Your children will always need you to protect them, but now they have a chance to return the favor.”  America's head rolled lazily towards him.  Canada smiled, continuing to stroke his hair. “You should be proud.  You taught them to be strong.  But once you're ready to fight-”  He slipped their hands together, squeezing gently.  "you won't be fighting alone.”

   
  
---  
  
 

**Author's Note:**

> Three of my uncles, my grandfather, and even my dad were all active veterans in different wars throughout American history. So, needless to say, I grew up in a very patriotic and loyal household. I knew of the sacrifices made to make this nation what it is today, and do my best to not take it for granted. (Admittedly, I do still fall short.) Some of my friends shared this belief, but I would get so sick of hearing people bash our beautiful country, and would occasionally respond the way Canada did to the American citizens. (It was far worse when I moved up north.) Now, I was fairly young, when this tragedy occurred, but I had a relatively clear perspective on the devastation. (In light of this, there may be a few details I missed, as well as flaws in potential time lines, but at least the message is here.) I did, of course, realize the exponential increase in patriotism after the events on 9-11, but hey, whatever gets those flags waving. Too soon, this feeling has flickered, and I pray that deep down the flames of our love and support for this country never dies. Sure America has faults, but what nation doesn't. Alfred's just louder about it. Also, and I don't want to start any political debates here, but I liked George W. Bush. I fully believe he took the necessary actions, available to him at the time, and I support that he did everything he could to get our nation back on his feet.
> 
> (Once I discovered Hetalia, I started to relate 9-11 to a drive-by shooting. Then I thought about what could happen to really make the American citizens stand up and shout “USA!!” So, Al died for a little while.)
> 
> ANYWHO!!!! I'm getting off topic. The real reason I wrote this was to throw out my own reminder, but also to showcase Canada. A lot of Americans don't realize how much Canada did for us in this time of crisis. Some rushed over to assist, the Canadian government actually took in planes, set out for America, and sheltered the passengers until it was safe for them to return home, and he still followed us into battle afterwards. I even had some Canadian pin-pals keep messaging me asking if we were ok, and what was going on, and could they do anything to help. Dude, CANADA ROX!!


End file.
